“Well,” he said, impatiently, as David wheeled around but still kept silence, “What have you to say to me?  Don’t keep me in suspense any longer, David.  I have endured all I can.  To-day has seemed like a thousand years.  Have you discovered what is the matter with Kilmeny?”

“There is nothing the matter with her,” answered David slowly, flinging himself into a chair by the window.

“What do you mean?”

“Just exactly what I say.  Her vocal organs are all perfect.  As far as they are concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should not speak.”

“Then why can’t she speak?  Do you think—­do you think—­”

“I think that I cannot express my conclusion in any better words than Janet Gordon used when she said that Kilmeny cannot speak because her mother wouldn’t.  That is all there is to it.  The trouble is psychological, not physical.  Medical skill is helpless before it.  There are greater men than I in my profession; but it is my honest belief, Eric, that if you were to consult them they would tell you just what I have told you, neither more nor less.”

“Then there is no hope,” said Eric in a tone of despair.  “You can do nothing for her?”

David took from the back of his chair a crochet antimacassar with a lion rampant in the center and spread it over his knee.

“I can do nothing for her,” he said, scowling at that work of art.  “I do not believe any living man can do anything for her.  But I do not say—­exactly—­that there is no hope.”

“Come, David, I am in no mood for guessing riddles.  Speak plainly, man, and don’t torment me.”

David frowned dubiously and poked his finger through the hole which represented the eye of the king of beasts.

“I don’t know that I can make it plain to you.  It isn’t very plain to myself.  And it is only a vague theory of mine, of course.  I cannot substantiate it by any facts.  In short, Eric, I think it is possible that Kilmeny may speak sometime—­if she ever wants it badly enough.”

“Wants to!  Why, man, she wants to as badly as it is possible for any one to want anything.  She loves me with all her heart and she won’t marry me because she can’t speak.  Don’t you suppose that a girl under such circumstances would ‘want’ to speak as much as any one could?”

“Yes, but I do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the wish may be.  What I do mean is—­a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush of desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage.  If any occasion should arise to evoke such a desire I believe that Kilmeny would speak—­and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that respect—­ay, if she spoke but the one word.”

“All this sounds like great nonsense to me,” said Eric restlessly.  “I suppose you have an idea what you are talking about, but I haven’t.  And, in any case, it practically means that there is no hope for her—­or me.  Even if your theory is correct it is not likely such an occasion as you speak of will ever arise.  And Kilmeny will never marry me.”